


When It Started

by ClaraxBarton



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Brooklyn, Canon Divergent, Captain America - Freeform, Cuddling, Fingering, M/M, Natasha the Bro of dreams, Oral Sex, Pizza, Post Avengers, Rebuilding, Shrunkyclunks, Steve Rogers Feels, modern!Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 08:53:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15793191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: Steve Rogers meets the president of the Captain America fan club. Literally. Kind of.





	When It Started

**Author's Note:**

> ALL of the thanks to Ro, my amazing beta who as a weakness for Stucky and to CB, who is a FUCKING MONSTER and was all 'hey what if...' and so yeah. 
> 
> WHAT IF INDEED????
> 
> You two are amazing, and will be the death of me. What a way to go.

 

  
  
  


Steve looked down at New York City and felt simultaneously immense and insignificant. It wasn’t a new feeling.

 

He had had it before, had experienced it  _ last century _ when he had been dubbed Captain America and been dumb enough to think he could save the world.

 

And now…

 

Now, he was in this century, and three days ago, he had helped defeat an invading alien army that would probably have given  _ Hitler _ nightmares, and he was standing in Tony Stark’s penthouse suite in the newly-christened, still kind of wrecked, Avengers Tower.

 

And he felt the same.

 

He could see the city, could see Central Park stretching out into the fading evening light, Harlem and Queens beyond; Brooklyn to the right, glowing with lights, and so different yet achingly familiar to the city he had grown up in; New Jersey to his left, gilded by the setting sun, but still… New Jersey.

 

Steve was standing here above it all. He was above it, but he was part of it, and he felt, in a way he couldn’t seem to express to anyone, so very unworthy and so very  _ small _ .

 

He sighed and leaned against the metal and glass railing that circled the balcony, and took a deep breath.

 

Even the air was different. And he didn’t know if that hint of smoke was a still-smoldering fire from the Chitauri invasion, or-

 

“Hey.”

 

Steve looked over his shoulder and saw Natasha approaching. Nicky Fury’s spy. A woman who wore sarcasm like a shield, and had been ready to die to save her best friend. Steve could appreciate that, could even see some of Peggy in her, but he didn’t trust her. Not yet. Maybe not ever. 

 

This world, this time and this place and these people - Steve felt like a puzzle piece being mashed into an empty spot that wasn’t his to occupy.

 

“Hey,” he responded, and she took his response as permission to come closer.

 

She leaned against the railing beside him and joined him in looking out over the city, quiet and solid beside him.

 

But she was Nick Fury’s spy, and after ten minutes of almost feeling comfortable in his own skin, Steve sighed and turned away from the view of the twenty-four hour reconstruction efforts underway below them.

 

“Anything wrong?” he asked her.

 

Her lips twitched, not quite forming a smile.

 

“Do you want the list alphabetical, chronological or categorical?”

 

Steve huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes.

 

Maybe it wasn’t that Natasha was like Peggy, but she was- she was full of fire, and what his ma would have called  _ meringue _ . 

 

“I meant, did you need something?”

 

“Do you?” She asked the question with that teasing lilt to her voice, but her face was solemn, her bright gaze sharp, and Steve knew she would let him brush off the question just as easily as she would listen to him tell  _ her _ alphabetically, chronologically and categorically what he needed.

 

And then go and tell Nick everything.

 

Steve sighed.

 

“No. Just… wishing I could do more.”

 

Natasha scoffed.

 

“You’re right. Working sixteen hours a day for the last three days to help rebuild is pretty useless. If only you-”

 

“Anyone can do that.  _ You’re _ doing that. I meant-” He suddenly realized how that had sounded, and he turned to look at her, ready to apologize.

 

“No, no. Go on.” She gave him a tight smile. “It’s nice to be considered  _ anyone _ for a change. Today, I was handing out water in the Bronx, and a woman shoved her baby into my arms and took the gallon of water I had just handed to her and started beating up some man with it until it exploded.”

 

Steve didn’t really see the point of the story, but it clearly meant something to Natasha, and he found himself wishing he could understand it for her.

 

“So I’m just anyone,” she concluded, and her smile wasn’t as tight anymore. “Who do you want to be?”

 

Steve sucked in a breath. That just wasn’t  _ fair _ . For her to see him that clearly, to know him that well.

 

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

 

“Well. If lifting cars and I-beams all day gets boring, Tony would love to get you on the talk show circuit to help raise money and attention.”

 

“Talk shows?”

 

She nodded and jerked her head towards the interior of Tony’s apartment.

 

Reluctantly, Steve followed her, and allowed Natasha to push him down into a chair while she curled up on one of the many couches - why,  _ why _ did Tony have so much furniture? - and turned on the television.

 

Steve hated it. Of all the things he wasn’t comfortable with in this new century, television was the worst. Not the concept - which had been around back in his time. His first time. Not even the widespread reach of it. But the  _ content _ .

 

It was a tool of such immense power, and instead, it was… a waste. Such a waste.

 

A lot like a guy who had been injected with a serum and the hopes of making a better world, and instead sat around on a couch and  _ watched television _ .

 

Natasha found something, stopping on a channel after several minutes of swiftly clicking through one after another, and pointed.

 

“Talk shows. Like this one. CNN isn’t the worst. Oh. And this one is about you.”

 

She was smiling again - not her tight smile to hide behind, not her lips twitching in a betrayal of her seriousness, not her fake smile or her polite smile. This was the smile she wore when she looked at Clint Barton.

 

Steve forced himself to watch the television.

 

The host of the show was a white man, white-haired and sporting glasses and a full white beard, and next to him at a large desk were three other people. One was a woman, dark-skinned and dressed all in black, looking serious and severe. One was a white woman, wearing a blue dress, her dark hair pulled back from her face and wearing glasses. The last was another white man, sporting a closely-shaped, full dark beard and dark hair just this side of wavy. He was dressed in a gray suit and a blue shirt, the top button undone and a tie nowhere in sight.

 

“So, before the break, Dr. Avery, Dr. Minyak and Dr. Barnes were discussing the role Captain America should play in the future of our nation,” the host said.

 

The dark-haired man actually rolled his eyes, and made a move to speak, but the white woman jumped in before he could. The television helpfully placed a banner with her name -  _ Dr. Alice Minyak, Psychologist _ \- on the screen.

 

“Actually, the question isn’t what role he should be playing, but whether or not Captain America is even  _ stable _ enough to play a role in the future of our nation.”

 

“True,” the dark-skinned woman added.  _ Dr. Carter Avery, Former Intelligence Agent _ . “Given Captain Rogers’ past issues following orders and operating within the context of the United States military, his presence on this team of Avengers is, at the least, surprising.”

 

Steve snorted derisively, and was surprised when the dark-haired man on the screen did as well.

 

“Dr. Barnes, something to add? You are the foremost authority on Captain America, after all. Do  _ you _ think he belongs on the Avengers? Can we really trust a man who was frozen for seventy years?”

 

_ Dr. James Barnes, History Professor, Columbia University _ .

 

“I appreciate the compliment, but my work on Captain America has been - and  _ will _ always be - in a historical context. I can offer perspective on how his actions to save our city relate to his actions in leading the Howling Commandos during World War Two, but I can’t tell you whether or not he belongs on the Avengers. None of us,” he gestured at the table’s other occupants, “can. And as for whether we can trust a man who was frozen for seventy years - who knows? But I’m willing to trust a man who was frozen for seventy years and then decided to risk his life for millions of people he had never met and a world he didn’t know.”

 

Barnes leaned back in his chair, and even though he was sitting just as properly as the rest of the talk show guests, it looked for all the world like he was  _ slouching _ .

 

And his voice - God. Pure Brooklyn. Dropping his  _ r _ s after vowels in a way that sounded so much like  _ home _ to Steve that he had to fight the urge to run.

 

“But that is precisely the issue,” Minyak jumped back in, Avery already nodding in agreement with her. “This is a man who is unstable - who has been thrust into a time and place he doesn’t recognize, who has no context, who has experienced trauma and who is likely suffering from-”

 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Barnes sat forward again. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you can’t actually sit there and try to diagnose a man you’ve never even met, can you? That seems sloppy at best, and like malpractice at worst.”

 

There was silence for what felt like a  _ lifetime _ before the host recovered.

 

“Dr. Avery, do you think Captain America should represent our country in the twenty-first century?”

 

Avery gave Barnes a critical look before she started, but the other man was still glaring at Minyak, who was glaring right back.

 

“I believe that is an assessment that the government - in particular, the military - will have to make. We also need to remember that this is a man who repeatedly disobeyed the orders of his superior officers. In fact, this whole  _ team _ of the Avengers raises serious questions about the militarization of non-government organizations and oversight.”

 

The host looked unprepared for  _ that _ turn in discussion as well, and he was clearly regretting having both Avery and Barnes on his show.

 

“Dr. Barnes, do you have anything to add?” he asked cautiously.

 

“No. Well - I think it’s worth pointing out that Captain Rogers disobeyed direct orders from his superior officers on at least eleven occasions, and ten of those led to him liberating thousands of prisoners from the Nazis and HYDRA.”

 

“What about the eleventh, though?” the host asked.

 

Barnes grinned, a slow curl of his lips that did funny things to Steve’s belly.

 

“Well, I guess that was technically the first. And they had to cancel a USO show because their lead actor decided to go play hero and invade Azzano all by himself and free a bunch of guys that became the Howling Commandos. And rescued my grandfather in the process.”

 

“So you’re admitting to a certain amount of bias when it comes to your views on him,” Minyak jumped in.

 

Barnes arched an eyebrow at her.

 

“Why? Because without him my father would never have been born? Or because he saved thousands of men and women who went on to change the world? Or because he inspired me to join the Army and serve my country as well? You do realize, I hope, that without Captain Rogers, none of us would be here. Seventy years ago, he gave his life to make sure people he would never meet - would never even dream about - could live their lives. If I have any bias, it’s just a hope that he isn’t watching this right now. He’s a man who gives everything without ever thinking twice, and we’re just sitting here critiquing him for  _ saving us _ .”

 

Another painful silence, but then the host cleared his throat.

 

“Let’s take a quick break, and afterwards, we’ll be joined by Justin Hammer to discuss the military implications of the Chitauri attacks.”

 

The sound faded, replaced by an annoying loud blast of theme music, but the image didn’t immediately cut away. Instead, it lingered on the table and showed Barnes and the host arguing, Barnes gesticulating wildly and then pulling off his lapel microphone, standing up, tossing it onto the desk, and stalking away.

 

_ Then _ it cut to a commercial featuring a green giant and vegetables.

 

Steve just stared.

 

“Wow. Who knew the president of your fan club was so hot?”

 

Natasha looked like she was having the time of her life.

 

“Fan club? Tell me you’re joking.”

 

She shrugged one shoulder and pulled out her phone.

 

“Maybe? Let’s see… Dr. James Barnes… Professor at Columbia… Here he is. James Buchanan Barnes - that’s unfortunate - called Bucky. Yikes, even more unfortunate. Born in 1979-”

 

“What are you doing? Are you just looking him up on the internet?”

 

Natasha gave him a patronizing look.

 

“No. I’m looking him up in the S.H.I.E.L.D. database. Grandfather was an Army Engineer. So was his father… who fought in Vietnam and committed suicide in 1985. Younger sister, Rebecca Barnes, born in 1983. He played football and baseball in high school, and…  _ aww _ .” 

 

The noise and expression on her face sounded so wildly out of character that Steve was afraid to look when she angled the phone towards him.

 

But she waggled it at him, and he sighed and gave in.

 

Clean-shaven, bright-eyed and grinning, a much younger Dr. Barnes stood in a Captain America costume with a young girl dressed just like him standing at his side in a photograph that looked to be from around the time Barnes had been in high school.

 

Steve glared at Natasha.

 

She took the phone back, still delightedly smirking.

 

“Offered a full ride to MIT… Turned it down to join the Army. A lot of classified missions. Black Ops. Oh, he was a sniper. Hm. Looks like he was on the ground in Afghanistan after September 11th, and he was taken hostage by the Taliban for five months. Released in 2002 and given an honorable discharge. And then he went to MIT and graduated in three years - sounds like he and Tony have a lot in common - but then he went to Yale and got a degree in American History. His thesis was - shockingly - about you. ‘ _ The Ethos of the Depression and the Genesis of Captain America.’ _ Which he adapted into a book - bestseller, by the way - but he changed the title to  _ The Genesis of Captain America _ . Good choice there. Then he wrote another book about you and your best friends.  _ The Howling Commandos and Their Captain _ . Another bestseller - that one has been optioned for movie rights. Wonder who will play you? And - I’m sensing a theme with his Halloween costumes.”

 

Natasha held the phone out again, and Steve obligingly looked. Barnes was older, his beard grown in and his hair a little longer and his eyes not nearly as bright, the smile he gave the camera a little forced, and the woman beside him, also dressed the same, was looking up at him with a mixture of love and concern. They were both still wearing Captain America costumes.

 

“Anyway, he teaches at Columbia now, and he lives in Brooklyn. He’s only a few blocks away from Clint.”

 

Steve thought it was horribly ironic that Barnes had just sat on national television and essentially told off the world for prying into  _ his _ life, and yet Steve and Natasha had just looked up almost his entire history on her phone.

 

“And here’s the obligatory gym selfie. He’s cute.”

 

Natasha held the phone out again, and if Steve was a better person, he wouldn’t have looked. But-

 

Barnes was in a gym, mirrored walls behind him, wearing blue shorts and a black tank. It wasn’t a photograph, but some kind of short video, and in it Barnes scowled and pulled his shirt up, showing off impressively defined abs but not looking at all happy about it.

 

“That’s from his sister’s Instagram account. He doesn’t have one. But she… posts about her brother a lot. Definitely the intel leak we used to compile all of his personal info.”

 

“There’s more?” Steve asked, horrified and not even a  _ little _ curious.

 

Natasha gave him a knowing look.

 

“Want to know his kill count? His allergies? How he likes his coffee?”

 

“No,” Steve decided. “Why does S.H.I.E.L.D. have so much on him?”

 

She shrugged one shoulder and went back to scrolling on her phone.

 

“It looks like we planned to recruit him at one point - before the whole POW thing, I’m betting. Then again, maybe after… Would have been good leverage.”

 

“What-  _ what _ are you talking about? How is a man being held prisoner by terrorists for five months  _ leverage _ ?”

 

Natasha gave him a long, considering look, but didn’t answer. She went back to her phone.

 

“I ordered his books for you. A messenger will drop them off tomorrow. You’re welcome.”

 

“I don’t want to read about myself.”

 

“Really? After Dr. Barnes went to the trouble of defending your honor, you aren’t even a little curious about what he has to say about you?”

 

She had him there, and she knew it.

 

“Plus,” she said as she stood up, “you can review the books for him. You wanted something  _ more _ to do, right? Maybe this is that more.”

 

She sauntered off, leaving Steve alone as the talk show came back, Barnes nowhere in sight.

 

Which reminded him.

 

“There’s no way in hell I’m doing a talk show!” he called after her.

 

-o-

 

The next two weeks were just as exhausting as the three days before had been, but when Steve finally stopped working every day and returned to the Tower, he didn’t look out over the city and drown in ennui.

 

Instead, he sat down and opened up  _ The Genesis of Captain America _ , picked up his red pen, and made notes in the margins.

 

He hadn’t meant to do it, but in the first chapter, Barnes detailed Steve’s family history and claimed that his father, Joseph, had died when Steve was eight. So Steve picked up a pen, a red pen because Tony favored those, because apparently his entire  _ life _ had to be appropriately themed, and he made the note that his father had died in 1926, not 1928.

 

It wasn’t that the book was riddled with mistakes - it was actually shockingly accurate, down to details of the fights Steve had gotten into as a kid, and how he had been kicked out of the altar boys at St. Augustine’s when he’d complained that Father Thomas was molesting some of the other boys.

 

But Barnes kept posing  _ questions _ in the book - sometimes, he made assumptions about why Steve had done the things he had, but then sometimes he framed it as a question.

 

_ Did Steve Rogers take up drawing as a hobby in order to give his ailing mother a chance to still view the world?  _

 

_ Did Steve Rogers feel so passionately about joining the Army because of his father’s own service and wartime injury? _

 

_ Did Steve Rogers leave his post as a USO entertainer because he saw an opportunity to become something more, or because he had always been something more? _

 

That last question hadn’t been one that Steve could answer, not like the others, where he scribbled a few notes in the margin. But that one… that was a question Steve had been asking himself since 1942.

 

It took him three weeks to finish _The_ _Genesis of Captain America,_ and when he did finish it, he flipped through the pages and noticed that there was a _lot_ of red. 

 

Natasha had suggested Steve send Barnes notes, and she had probably been joking, but…

 

Hell. Would the man even be interested in Steve’s thoughts on  _ his _ thoughts on  _ Steve _ ?

 

It felt horribly narcissistic.

 

Steve made the mistake of leaving the book on the coffee table after he had finished it and before he had decided what to do with it.

 

One night, it was there. The next, it was gone.

 

“Where did my book go?” Steve asked Natasha.

 

“Oh - I thought you wanted me to send it to Dr. Barnes.”

 

They glared at each other for a solid minute before Steve walked away.

 

“Don’t worry, I put a note saying it was from a  _ fan _ .”

 

-o-

 

It was almost July when Natasha asked Steve for help.

 

Considering that he doubted she would ask for help even if she was amputating her own leg, he agreed without asking.

 

Which led him to Brooklyn - to Bed-Stuy, of all places - and a seven-story walk-up that had seen better decades.

 

Sitting on the stoop out front, arms bandaged and jeans and purple shirt looking like they too had seen better decades, was Clint Barton.

 

“Clint?” Steve was pretty sure it was him, but he still had to ask.

 

The blond-haired man’s pale eyes focused on him.

 

“Cap? Nat - what- what the hell?”

 

“You said you needed help. I brought help.”

 

“I meant I needed  _ you _ \- I don’t…” Clint sighed, and buried his head in his hands.

 

Natasha sat down beside him, one hand going to his neck to rub at it gently, and Steve stayed where he was, looking away because this felt like a very private, very intimate moment for two people who didn’t have many of either.

 

He hadn’t seen Clint all that much since the Battle. He came by the Tower once a week, it seemed, but had spent most of his time out in Brooklyn, assisting in rebuilding efforts closer to home, according to Natasha. Avoiding the hell out of them, according to Tony.

 

Clint had the look of a man who had forgotten what sleep felt like, and Steve realized that the  _ more _ he wanted to do could have -  _ should have _ \- started with Clint. With Natasha. With his  _ team _ .

 

Steve sighed, frustrated with himself, and sat down on the other side of Clint.

 

“What seems to be the trouble?” he asked in his best  _ aw shucks _ voice that had always worked wonders when he had sold war bonds.

 

Clint sighed again.

 

“Well, to start with, I’m a fucking idiot. Then, there’s the fact that I’m a tragically unlucky fucking idiot. And, oh yeah, dunno if I mentioned - I’m a fucking idiot.”

 

Natasha punched him. Hard.

 

“Ow!” Clint rubbed at his shoulder. “What was that for?”

 

“You’re trash-talking my best friend.”

 

“Jeez, Nat. That really hurt.”

 

“Good. Now tell us what happened.”

 

Clint sighed yet again.

 

“I...tookonthemafiaandstoletheirdogandboughtthisbuildingandidontknowwhatthefucktodo.”

 

Steve blinked and looked over at Natasha, hoping she had caught  _ any _ of that.

 

She shook her head in the negative.

 

“One more time,” Steve prompted.

 

“So there’s the tracksuit mafia, you know?”

 

Steve did not know. He didn’t even know what a tracksuit was. Was it a place? A thing? A-

 

“They owned this building, and you know I’ve lived here for like… ten years. And they started trying to kick out the tenants, raising rent with no warning, beating people up, so I told them to back off, and they beat me up.”

 

“You, by yourself, told the mafia to back off.” Natasha sounded so proud of Clint and simultaneously so very disappointed in him.

 

“Yeah, well, they didn’t listen. And  _ then _ \- and then they beat the hell out of their dog, and I stole him, and then I bought the building, and Nat, I don’t know how to be a  _ landlord _ !”

 

“How did you afford an entire building?” Steve asked, because he had looked into renting a place, and had realized that he was going to need a lot more money than just his back-pay from the Army to afford anything in Brooklyn.

 

“I was an assassin. Before I, you know, became an assassin,” Clint muttered.

 

Steve looked to Natasha for an interpretation of that.

 

“Freelance.”

 

Assassin for hire. That didn’t seem to fit what Steve knew about Clint. But then, what  _ did _ he really know about Clint? About any of the other Avengers?

 

“Hey, where’s the best pizza around here?” he asked, deciding it was long past time he did something about that.

 

Clint stared up at him.

 

“What?”

 

“Pizza. They still make that, don’t they? Any chance Totonno’s is still in business?”

 

“On Coney Island?  _ You’ve _ been to Totonno’s?”

 

“What - you think you’re the only one who grew up in Brooklyn?”

 

“I grew up in Iowa, man. I’m just a transplant.” But Clint got to his feet, and Nat followed him. “Totonno’s is great, but they got hit. They’re rebuilding, but not open for business yet. Let me introduce you to Roberta’s.”

 

Clint led the way, Nat at his side, and Steve trailing just behind them, looking at all of the changes seventy years and an alien invasion had wrought on Brooklyn.

 

Roberta’s turned out to be a hole in the wall - literally, framed with a red wooden lean-to that Steve had to hunch to enter - but it also turned out to be amazing.

 

The pies were small, Clint warned him ahead of time before ordering  _ two _ for himself, but as the three of them sat down at a table in the back, table full of pieces and pints of beer, the smell of pizza and the hum of conversation and the glow of incandescent lights overhead, Steve almost felt like he was in the right place.

 

And then he took a bite of pizza and  _ knew _ he was.

 

“Right?” Clint grinned, the first time Steve had ever seen that expression on his face. “So good, huh?”

 

Steve could only nod enthusiastically, mouth full of sauce and cheese, and  _ damn, _ but he had missed pizza.

 

Natasha smiled at the two of them, the expression soft and sincere, and okay - she might be Nick’s spy, but she was, Steve thought, maybe someone who could be his friend.

 

“Okay,” Steve said after he had finished his first pie and second pint. “Tell me what the hell happened to the Dodgers.”

 

Clint groaned.

 

“Oh my God. Oh my  _ god _ , Steve! Steve! This is just- God. I’m sorry. You want the band-aid ripped off fast, or you want the long story with every sad, pathetic twist?”

 

“Band-aid,” Steve decided. He would look up the long story on his own.

 

“O’Malley bought a majority share of the team in 1950, wanted to build a new stadium, everyone was an asshole, he moved the team to Los Angeles in ‘56. Oh yeah, you also missed Jackie Robinson - first black guy to play for a major league team, started in ‘46. They won the pennant in ‘47, ‘49, ‘52, and ‘53.”

 

Steve would have liked to see that.

 

“Some of the games are recorded - I’ll hunt them down for you,” Clint offered.

 

“Thank you,” Steve said sincerely. Another thing, apparently, that television was good for. Reliving the past. 

 

“Speaking of hunting things down.” Natasha turned to Steve with a grin that could  _ only _ be described as predatory. “Steve, the president of your fan club is ordering pizza.”

 

“Steve has a fan club?” Clint actually leaned across the table to look, and Steve- Steve couldn’t help but look as well.

 

Sure enough, Dr. Barnes was standing at the counter, grin on his face, eyes crinkled in good humor, filling out his jeans and black t-shirt in a way that Steve was fairly certain was criminal.

 

“Damn. How do I get one of those?” Clint asked.

 

“He dresses up like Steve for Halloween. Every year. S.H.I.E.L.D. has photos of him going back to 1983 dressing up as Captain America.”

 

“No shit? Show me. Show. Me.”

 

Steve was vaguely aware of Clint and Natasha, more than vaguely, but he heroically ignored them as Natasha pulled out her phone and-

 

Barnes looked at him, still grinning, eyes still crinkled, mid-laugh, and their gazes caught.

 

The grin slid from Barnes’s face, his eyes widened, and his jaw went slack. 

 

He was still devastatingly handsome.

 

The woman behind the counter said something, pulling Barnes’s attention back to her, and Steve forced himself to look away.

 

“He saw me.”

 

Natasha and Clint looked at him.

 

“What do you mean?” Natasha asked.

 

“He saw me  _ looking _ at him.”

 

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Cap, he probably just- Oh, he’s coming over. Act casual. Just- Shit, Cap, don’t  _ look _ at him. Christ, you’d think being frozen for seventy years would give you  _ some _ idea of how to be cool.”

 

Steve stared at him.

 

Clint had the grace to blush.

 

“That was  _ awful _ ,” Steve admonished.

 

Clint grinned.

 

“I know, right?”

 

“I’m sorry to interrupt.”

 

It was Barnes. That voice was seared into Steve’s mind after the interview, and when he looked up and met the man’s gaze - his eyes were gray. Natasha hadn’t said that when she listed off all of the things Steve shouldn’t know about him.

 

Gray eyes, and he was so much better-looking up close. How, Steve had to wonder, did any of his students even pay attention in class?

 

It was all Steve could do to remember to  _ breathe _ .

 

“No worries, man,” Clint said. “Unless you’re here to be a jerk. Are you?”

 

Barnes looked as if he was seriously considering Clint’s question.

 

“I hope not,” he decided. “I just wanted to thank you - all of you - for what you do.”

 

He stared at Steve as he said it, and Steve stared back at him, because how could he not?

 

There was a small scar on Barnes’s forehead, cutting through the lower edge of his left eyebrow and-

 

“We should thank you,” Natasha said, her voice a little too loud, her heel on Steve’s toes a little too painful.

 

Barnes frowned, and  _ how _ was that so adorable? Did the man  _ never _ look bad?

 

“For what?”

 

“We - Steve and I - watched your interview on CNN.”

 

“Oh God. I’m so sorry,” Barnes’s shoulders slumped, and he bowed his head. “That was such a shitshow. I never would have gone on it, but my sister convinced me it would be a good idea. and- It’s not her fault. It’s mine. I knew better. I just- I’m sorry. For everything. So sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologize,” Steve finally galvanized himself into speech, and Natasha rolled her eyes.

 

Barnes stared at him, and Steve continued to stare back.

 

Steve felt Natasha and Clint kick each other under the table.

 

“So… stranger who did something I don’t know about… want to join us?” Clint offered, scooting over on the booth he occupied to make room.

 

“Is that… okay?” Barnes asked, still looking at Steve.

 

“Yeah. Yes. It is. Sure. If you want. To sit. WIth us.”

 

Barnes’s lips twitched, and his eyes did that crinkly thing, but he sat down beside Clint, and Steve ignored Natasha’s eyeroll and kicked her back under the table when she tried to stab his toes again.

 

“I’m James Barnes, Bucky,” Barnes introduced himself to Clint.

 

“Clint Barton, Hawkeye.”

 

“I know. I’ve seen you around the neighborhood, helping out. You actually helped my sister at the Y two days ago.”

 

“Least I could do,” Clint mumbled, picking at his pizza. “After I did… everything else.”

 

It wasn’t public knowledge, what had happened with Loki, with Clint, and Steve wasn’t sure it was a good idea to tell a civilian - even someone as… amazing as Barnes.

 

“Yeah,” Barnes sighed. “I’ve been keeping up with the garbage about the destruction you all ‘caused’. It’s bullshit. You saved us. Giant alien corpses are all over the city because they’re dead and we’re alive.”

 

Clint looked ready to argue, but Natasha spoke up.

 

“So, Bucky, why the interest in Steve?”

 

She was completely immune to Steve’s glare, but Barnes - Bucky. He had called himself Bucky, and Steve disagreed that it was an unfortunate nickname. It was as perfect as the rest of him - blushed, cheeks turning rosy and his gray eyes flicking over to Steve before he looked back at Natasha.

 

“He was my hero when I was a kid.”

 

“And then you grew up and decided to become an expert in all things Steve?”

 

The blush grew deeper, and Steve  _ really _ wanted to know if Bucky’s cheeks would be hot under his mouth if he kissed him and-

 

Slow down there, Rogers. The thought had come from nowhere, the  _ desire _ from nowhere, and Steve hadn’t felt like this since Peggy, hadn’t felt more than the most passing of interest in  _ anyone _ since he had been ‘defrosted’, as Tony put it, and Bucky…

 

Was it just because he had defended Steve? Was Steve  _ really _ that narcissistic?

 

“My undergraduate degree was in American Studies. I was actually focused on Stark Technology for a while, which led me to…” Barnes looked at Steve again. “I’m sorry. I’m talking about you like a  _ subject, _ but you aren’t. You’re a person. And I don’t want to sit here treating you like  _ that _ .”

 

Bucky had stood up to Natasha, who admittedly hadn’t been pushing too hard with the questions, and he-

 

He looked at Steve like he  _ knew _ . Like he understand what it meant to belong somewhere else and yet be stuck  _ here _ .

 

“Good, because I could use some help explaining the  _ Mets _ to Steve,” Clint said.

 

“You mean the greatest team in the history of New York City?” Bucky asked with a grin.

 

Clint groaned.

 

“ _ What? What _ ? No! No, no, nope. Your seating privileges are revoked. Absolutely no way in  _ hell _ will I share a table with a Mets fan - and not just a Mets fan, but did you just say the  _ greatest team _ in the history of this fine city?”

 

Bucky was still grinning, his eyes doing the crinkly thing that had to be some kind of superpower, something that absolutely  _ melted _ Steve’s brain and made him think of so many things that he shouldn’t be thinking.

 

“Oh,  _ Mets _ . Sorry, I thought you said  _ Nets _ .”

 

“You’re a fucking riot. Like that’s any better. Christ. You gonna tell me you’re a Rangers fan next?”

 

Bucky looked affronted.

 

“Islanders, all the way.”

 

Clint let out a relieved sigh.

 

“Giants or Jets?” he asked in a cautious tone.

 

“Actually…”

 

“Oh, no. Please don’t say-”

 

“I don’t follow football.”

 

“Oh, thank fuck. Let’s pretend you said the Jets and move on.”

 

Natasha had been very quiet ever since Bucky had shut down her line of questioning, and Steve hazarded a look in her direction. Her gaze was fixed on Clint, her posture as relaxed as Steve had ever seen her, and her eyes were clear, her lips curved into the slightest of smiles.

 

She felt his gaze and looked up at him, arching an eyebrow in question.

 

“I don’t understand anything they just said,” Steve admitted, because it was easier than admitting anything else.

 

“That’s because you spend all day as a glorified construction worker, and you live with a bunch of science geeks.”

 

“And a spy.”

 

“And a spy,” she agreed. “You need to get out more. Maybe Bucky will give you a tour.”

 

Steve was the one who blushed now, as he looked over at Bucky, who looked back at him.

 

“What kind of tour?” Bucky asked, not immediately rejecting the idea, and that… was probably just because he was a nice guy.

 

A nice guy who berated idiots on national television.

 

“Well, I think this is the first time Steve has been to Brooklyn since 1942, isn’t it?” Natasha asked.

 

“Yeah,” Steve admitted.

 

“Oh, you should come over more often,” Clint started to say. “We could-  _ ow _ !” He stopped talking, letting out a pained exclamation and glaring at Natasha. “Oh. Yeah. Tour with the Steve Rogers fan club president. I get it now.”

 

“I’m sorry - what?” 

 

“The Steve Rogers fan club, you’re-  _ Stop _ kicking me, Nat! You said he was the president of Steve’s fan club!”

 

There was a moment of excruciating, absolutely debilitating mortification-induced silence around the table.

 

“Clint, why don’t you walk me home, and I can teach you some fun Russian curse words,” Natasha abruptly said, sliding out of the booth smoothly and standing beside the table with an expression on her face that would have reminded even an idiot that she had killed aliens with her bare hands.

 

And for all that he could, at times, act like an idiot, Clint wasn’t an idiot.

 

“Yeah. Sounds great. Uh, good to meet you, Bucky.”

 

There was an awkward moment of shuffling, Bucky sliding out of the booth to allow Clint out, and then Bucky looking unsure about whether or not to sit back down.

 

“Make sure he gets home?” Natasha said to Bucky. “He hasn’t used the subway in this century. Doesn’t even have a metro card.”

 

Steve glared -  _ she _ had been the one to tell him not to try the subway because he was too noticeable, and unless he wanted to spend the entire ride signing autographs, he should just avoid it. Or grow a beard.

 

“Okay,” Bucky said, looking between Steve and Natasha as if trying to decide if it was a joke or not.

 

Natasha offered Steve a meaningful glare, while Clint gave him a thumbs-up and then allowed Natasha to drag him away.

 

Bucky sat back down, and Steve sighed in relief.

 

“Your pizza,” Steve realized. Bucky hadn’t even had a chance to eat it.

 

Bucky looked down at the two slices on his plate and laughed.

 

“Yeah. Hey, nothing beats lukewarm pizza, right?”

 

“Except cold pizza,” Steve said, thinking about the times he had eaten cold slices the next day, slice in one hand, pencil in the other, while he worked on sketches for the advertising firm commissions that had kept him from starving.

 

“Amen to that. Have you been back to Totonno’s yet? Sorry - that’s creepy, isn’t it?”

 

“No. It’s fine. Clint said they got hit in the attack.”

 

Bucky nodded.

 

“Yeah. Half the place caved in. But the old man has been complaining about needing a new oven for, like, fifteen years. A bunch of us in the community pitched in when the insurance wouldn’t cover the whole cost. He’s planning to reopen in September.”

 

“Wait. The insurance refused to pay?”

 

Bucky gave him a rueful smirk.

 

“You know any policies that offer alien invasion insurance? Nah, it’s not even the company’s fault - they gave a lot more than anyone thought they would. Wrote it off as a fire since, well, it did catch on fire when the Chitauri flying scooter thing crashed into it.”

 

Steve nodded, thinking back to the Battle and wondering how they could have done a better job of containing the damage and-

 

“Hey.”

 

He looked up and met Bucky’s gaze, gray eyes serious.

 

“I know that look. You can’t blame yourself for everything, you know. The universe is bigger than just you.”

 

It was simultaneously depressing and comforting to hear those words. It reminded Steve of what it felt like to stand on top of the Tower. What it had felt like to crawl out of his tent and take a piss beside a row of G.I.s doing the same thing, no one giving a damn that he would put on the spangly pajamas afterwards. 

 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “It is.”

 

Something pinged, the sound reminiscent of the gadgets in Tony’s lab, and Bucky scrambled for his pocket.

 

“Shit, uh…” He was blushing again, and Steve was fascinated with the way the tips of Bucky’s  _ ears _ turned pink.

 

Bucky pulled his phone out of his pocket, something that didn’t look nearly as extravagant as the frankly frightening piece of tech that Natasha carried around, but was definitely sleeker than the flip phone that Clint insisted on using.

 

“Ugh, definitely a pass,” Bucky said, swiping his thumb across the screen of his phone and then putting it face-down on the table.

 

Steve raised an eyebrow.

 

“Work?”

 

“Uh, no.” Bucky was still blushing. “Semester doesn’t start until the end of August. No, it was just Grindr.”

 

“Grindr?”

 

Steve didn’t think it was possible, but Bucky blushed even more.

 

“Yeah. It’s… I can’t believe I’m about to explain this to  _ you _ . This is worse than having to explain it to my ma. Oh, God. Uh, Grindr. It’s a hookup app. It’s for men - gay men, bi men - looking for someone to…”

 

“Date?” Steve supplied, amused that Bucky was so hesitant to reveal his sexuality. As if being gay was unique to the twenty-first century. As if Bucky hadn’t written two  _ books _ on Steve, one of which had an entire chapter on Steve’s pre-war association with the drag balls at the Hamilton Lodge in Harlem.

 

“No. Have sex. Just… meet up and have sex.”

 

“Hookup,” Steve repeated Bucky’s earlier term.

 

Bucky nodded, and he propped his cheek in his left hand, still blushing.

 

“I can’t believe I just taught you about Grindr.”

 

Steve wanted to sketch Bucky just like this, cheek pushed up by his palm, mouth curved by the gesture, eyes warm and skin flushed and hair flopping over his forehead just so. He-

 

He noticed the scars on Bucky’s left arm.

 

They started on his palm, mapping over his knuckles and wrist, his forearm and elbow and higher, disappearing under his sleeve.

 

They looked like shrapnel scars - hundreds of small, uneven pocks and lines of uneven depths.

 

Bucky dropped his arm back to his side, and Steve looked at him.

 

He wasn’t blushing anymore. His jaw was tight, his eyes flat.

 

“Sorry,” Steve apologized. “I’m sorry for staring. I know exactly how awful it feels to be on the receiving end of that.”

 

Bucky offered a wry grin.

 

“Not  _ exactly _ . People don’t stare at you because you look like the villain in a comic book.”

 

Steve stared again. Was Bucky serious? 

 

He was.

 

He absolutely was.

 

“You have to realize how gorgeous you are,” Steve said, because Bucky  _ had to know _ . “Don’t your… hookups,” Steve gestured at the phone, “tell you how gorgeous you are?”

 

Bucky opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then just stared at Steve, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.

 

“Did you just… You think I’m gorgeous?”

 

Steve glared.

 

“Who  _ doesn’t _ think you’re gorgeous?”

 

“Lots of people,” Bucky shrugged, and then folded his arms on the table and leaned forwards. He smirked again, eyes going crinkly, but the expression - there was so much  _ heat _ in Bucky’s eyes, so much confidence in his smirk, that Steve felt himself flush. “But tell me more about how  _ you _ think I’m gorgeous.”

 

Before Steve could even begin to figure out what to do with that challenge, Bucky’s phone pinged again.

 

Bucky groaned and did something to his phone, a few rapid taps of his fingers, and then shoved it back into his pocket.

 

“Sure you don’t want to hookup?” Steve asked.

 

Bucky stared at him for a moment, and then he laughed, the sound deep and rich, and Steve could do with hearing that again  _ forever _ .

 

“Steve, that’s- Can I call you Steve?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Bucky had a dimple.

 

He had a god damn  _ dimple _ . It was barely visible, in his left cheek just above his beard, but it was  _ there _ .

 

“Steve, you just asked me if I didn’t want to hookup with  _ you _ .”

 

“Oh.”

 

Steve briefly debated whether or not he could legitimately ask Bucky if he  _ did _ want to hookup.

 

He had fought in a war, had been - if not openly bisexual, at least not in the closet - before joining the Army, even if no one had bothered to check on that fact before selecting him to be Captain America, and he was familiar with the concept and the  _ practice _ of casual sex.

 

And Bucky knew who he was. Bucky was, after all, the leading authority on Steve.

 

And Bucky had a  _ dimple _ .

 

Steve draped his left arm over the back of the booth, watched Bucky’s eyes track the movement, watched his eyes darken as they met Steve’s again.

 

“ _ Do _ you want to hook up?” Steve asked.

 

-o-

 

Bucky’s apartment was small.

 

It was as far from the endless windows and multiple couches and five-floor penthouse that Tony lived in that Steve actually laughed when Bucky opened the door.

 

“It’s not Stark Tower,” Bucky grumbled, as if he could read Steve’s thoughts.

 

“Avengers Tower,” Steve corrected reflexively, after being drilled by Tony and Pepper constantly. “And no, it’s nothing like the Tower.” He smiled at Bucky. “It’s perfect.”

 

Bucky looked doubtful at Steve’s pronouncement, but Steve was sincere.

 

It was small - there was a single couch that looked like it had survived a  _ lot, _ and there wasn’t a television in sight. The kitchen was open, connected to the living room, and there was an absolutely miniscule cafe table with two chairs that had to be Bucky’s dining room.

 

“Give me the tour,” Steve suggested.

 

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he locked the door, dropped his keys and his phone on the kitchen counter, and took Steve’s hand.

 

His fingers were warm, his grip loose yet firm, and he tugged Steve farther into the dark interior.

 

“Kitchen, living room, bathroom,” Bucky flipped on the light and revealed a room so small Steve wasn’t even sure he would  _ fit _ in it, “office slash guest room when my sister comes to visit,” another room, and another light switch revealed wall-to-ceiling bookshelves that were overflowing, a daybed, a desk and a rolling chair. The desk had an open computer and scattered stacks of paper all over it.

 

“And,” Bucky tugged Steve away from the office and towards the last dark doorway, “my room.”

 

Bucky didn’t flip the light switch on, but dragged Steve into the dark room several steps before letting go of his hand and stepping away.

 

A moment later, a lamp flickered on, and Steve found himself standing in a bedroom that was occupied almost entirely by a bed.

 

Steve honestly didn’t know how he hadn’t tripped over it.

 

There was maybe a foot of walking space around the bed, windows on the wall above it, a half-open closet door on one wall, a dresser crammed against the wall opposite the foot of the bed, and a nightstand nestled against it, and it was  _ the _ most normal-looking room Steve had been in since 1942.

 

Bucky tugged at the comforter on the bed awkwardly in an attempt to straighten it up.

 

“I hope we don’t break the bed,” Bucky muttered. “You’re, uh, big.”

 

Steve laughed, and he reached for Bucky’s hand.

 

Bucky gave it to him, and Steve reeled him in, wrapping his arms around Bucky and finding that they fit together well, Bucky just a few inches shorter than him, broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted, and Steve held him as Bucky grinned up at him.

 

“I’m not sure if I should promise to be on my best behavior or my worst,” Steve said.

 

Bucky laughed then, that same delighted sound from before, and Steve closed the distance between them, leaning down but stopping short of kissing the other man, feeling the warm puff of air as Bucky laughed once more, and then-

 

Bucky’s lips met his, still curved upwards, and Steve swore he could taste Bucky’s delight.

 

He wanted to savor the taste of Bucky’s lips, the soft-rough scratch of his beard against Steve’s chin, the strength of his body, the little sound he made when Steve nipped at his lower lip, the feel of Bucky’s narrow hips under his hands, the-

 

Steve’s phone rang.

 

He knew it was his phone, because it was the phone Tony had given him, and Tony thought he was hilarious and had programmed the  _ Star-Spangled Banner _ as Steve’s ringtone for all incoming calls.

 

Bucky stepped back when Steve huffed in annoyance.

 

“Sorry,” he said as he fumbled for the phone. “It might be-”

 

“Important. Yeah. I get it.” Bucky sat down on the edge of the bed.

 

Steve looked at the screen of his phone.

 

It was Tony.

 

Which meant there was a fifty-fifty chance the call was important or would be a total waste of his time.

 

Steve sighed and answered it.

 

“Rogers.”

 

“Hey, Cap, just wanted to make sure you were alive. And, you know, not still trying to work yourself to death.”

 

On the bed, Bucky leaned back, supporting his weight on his elbows and looking up at Steve with an expression on his face that the man  _ had  _ to know was unbearably erotic.

 

“I’m alive,” Steve assured him.

 

Bucky bit his lower lip, reminding Steve rather forcefully that moments ago  _ he _ had been biting Bucky’s lower lip.

 

“Are you still working? Romanoff said you weren’t with her, and Barton isn’t answering his phone… Tell me you aren’t still digging through rubble on 34th street looking for that kid’s teddy bear?”

 

Bucky opened his legs, creating an inviting v that Steve just  _ had _ to step into, walking forwards until his thighs were bracketed by Bucky’s, and Steve had a damn near visceral image of Bucky’s thighs wrapped around him while Steve slid his dick into Bucky.

 

“I found the teddy bear yesterday. And no, I’m not still working.”

 

“Good. So, look, Cap. I know you said you didn’t want to do the talk show thing-”

 

“I said there was no circumstance in which I would  _ ever _ do a talk show,” Steve corrected him.

 

Bucky sat back up, face close to Steve’s chest, and angled his head back to meet Steve’s gaze.

 

_ Do you mind? _ Bucky mouthed.

 

At least, Steve was pretty sure those were the words his lips formed.

 

_ Mind what? _ Steve mouthed back.

 

Bucky smirked and reached for Steve’s shirt, tugging it up and exposing his abdomen, and then Bucky leaned close, blew a teasing breath over Steve’s navel, and licked him.

 

Steve sucked in a breath.

 

Bucky was still looking up at him, eyebrows raised in question, and  _ Tony _ was still talking.

 

“....event. Pepper says it’ll be formal. I mean, it’s Charlie Rose. The guy isn’t going to ask you anything weird, right?”

 

Steve put his hand in Bucky’s hair, hoping the silent encouragement was enough.

 

Apparently, it was, because Bucky licked at him again and then  _ nibbled _ Steve’s abs, and Steve had never had anyone do that to him before, and what a  _ waste, _ because it felt so damn good.

 

“It’s just one hour, Steve. One hour and-”

 

“Tony. I don’t care who it is. I’m not doing a talk show.”

 

“Fine. Fine! Leave me hanging, let  _ me _ be the public face of the Avengers.”

 

“Gladly.” Steve groaned as Bucky worked his way over and  _ down _ , taking his time, lavishing attention on Steve’s skin, and it had been so long since Steve had been touched, so long since anyone had looked at him the way Bucky did - if anyone ever  _ had _ looked at him like Bucky did.

 

“No talk show - what about a charity dinner? Huh? You can take Pepper. There’s one in DC next month. The president is going to be there. Please, Steve.  _ Please _ .”

 

Bucky bit down again, not nearly as gently as before, and Steve gasped and gripped Bucky’s hair tightly, pulling on it, and Bucky immediately stopped.

 

“It’s fine,” Steve assured him. “It’s good.”

 

Bucky smirked and leaned forward, did it again, and Steve had to close his eyes, had to fully appreciate the sensation and-

 

“It’s good?” Tony repeated. “You’ll do it?”

 

“Yes. Yeah. I’ll- Tony, I have to  _ go _ .”

 

Steve ended the call, tossed the phone over his shoulder and hoped it broke, and Bucky grinned up at him.

 

“Not important?” he asked.

 

“Not as important as you and your  _ mouth _ ,” Steve assured him.

 

There was that dimple again. Steve wanted to kiss it.

 

So he did, leaning down, forcing Bucky to lie on his back, and he kissed the barely there crease of skin.

 

“Hey, Steve.”

 

He propped himself up, hearing the change in Bucky’s tone and worried that he shouldn’t have done that.

 

“Hey, Bucky.”

 

“The hair pulling?”

 

Steve nodded.

 

“Sorry about that.”

 

“No, no - not where I was taking this conversation. I just wanted you to know that I  _ like _ it. Hair pulling. So if I do something you don’t like - something you don’t want, pulling my hair isn’t normally a ‘hell no’ signal for me.”

 

Steve ran his right hand over Bucky’s chest, let his fingers trace Bucky’s jaw, and then tangled them in Bucky’s hair and gave a tug.

 

Bucky’s eyes closed, and he made a sound that went straight to Steve’s dick.

 

Steve kissed him again, caught Bucky’s open lips with his own, and Bucky’s tongue met his, and kissing Bucky made Steve feel like he would  _ never _ be cold again.

 

“Tell me what else you like,” Steve said.

 

Bucky dimpled again.

 

“The way you kiss.”

 

So Steve kissed him again.

 

Bucky hummed.

 

“Yeah. I like that.”

 

“What else?” Steve pulled Bucky’s hair again, hard enough that his neck arched back with the movement, and Steve pressed his lips to the strong line of Bucky’s throat, inching his way to Bucky’s collar.

 

“Nipples,” Bucky sighed.

 

Steve smiled against Bucky’s skin.

 

“You like nipples, or you like to have your nipples touched?”

 

Bucky huffed out a shallow laugh.

 

“Both, you?”

 

“Both,” Steve agreed, and he felt Bucky’s hands snake between them, knew it was coming even before Bucky tweaked his right nipple, but that didn’t lessen the jolt of pleasure he felt.

 

Steve angled his head down, found the hard nub of Bucky’s left nipple and licked at it through the fabric of Bucky’s shirt before gently taking it between his teeth.

 

Bucky groaned and arched up into him.

 

“What else?” Steve asked, circling Bucky’s other nipple with his fingers, pinching it gently and then rolling it between his fingers while Bucky looked up at him, pupils blown and cheeks flushed, and he was so beautiful it made Steve actually ache.

 

“I like to be fucked.”

 

Steve snorted a laugh. He had guessed that much.

 

Bucky grinned up at him.

 

“How do you like to be fucked?” Steve asked.

 

“Christ. Say that again.”

 

Steve raised an eyebrow at him, but dutifully repeated the sentence.

 

“Mm. Okay. Sorry. That just… fulfilled about every single fantasy I’ve had ever.”

 

“Me asking you how you like to be fucked?” Steve didn’t understand how that was possible - but then he did. Because he was Steve Rogers, Captain America. 

 

“Shit. I’m sorry.” Bucky’s hands reached for Steve’s face, palms smoothing over his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I made it weird. Tell me what you like, Steve.”

 

“I like the way you kiss,” Steve used Bucky’s line.

 

Bucky obligingly kissed him, and Steve let himself fall back into it, let himself just be  _ Steve, _ and Bucky kissed him and wrapped his thighs around Steve’s ass, and dragged his short nails over Steve’s back through the fabric of his shirt.

 

“That. I like all of that,” Steve told him. “But I’d like it better naked.”

 

“I’d like it better naked too,” Bucky grinned.

 

The absolute  _ lack _ of space and the desire to get undressed as quickly and smoothly as possible made it impossible not to elbow each other, made it impossible to be quick  _ or _ smooth, and they ended up having to help each other out of their pants, ended up grinning and laughing until Steve kissed Bucky again, and they fell back on the bed and it was better naked. So much better naked.

 

Steve ran his hands over Bucky’s torso, feeling the shrapnel scars that seemed to cover most of the left side of his body, felt the way his muscles moved as Bucky arched into Steve’s touch, felt the burn of Bucky’s beard as Bucky kissed his way down Steve’s chest, licked and kissed and bit his nipples, and then worked lower and lower until his breath was hot on Steve’s dick and his eyes were practically molten as they met Steve’s.

 

“Tell me what you like,” Bucky said, the words damn near a caress.

 

“No teeth,” Steve managed.

 

“No teeth,” Bucky agreed, and then he flicked his tongue out, swiping at the precome leaking from Steve’s dick, and Steve could have died right that  _ moment _ from the feel of it and the expression on Bucky’s face.

 

But then Bucky’s lips were parting around the head of his dick, and Steve was sliding into wet, velvet heat, and he wasn’t sure that he  _ wasn’t _ dead.

 

“I like that- Oh, Bucky, I like that,” Steve mumbled, and maybe it was coherent English - he had no idea.

 

Bucky hummed and Steve swore, thrusting into the feel of that, the vibration of Bucky’s mouth and his tongue and-

 

Bucky pulled away, coughing and then sucking in a breath.

 

“Sorry. I should-”

 

“No, it’s fine,” Bucky held up a hand. “My fault. I usually say up-front I don’t go for that.”

 

“It’s not your fault.”

 

“Well, it’s not yours either,” Bucky challenged, and they actually  _ glared _ at each other until Steve realized how absolutely ridiculous the situation was.

 

“Okay. So none of… that.”

 

“Face fucking,” Bucky supplied.

 

“Right. No face fucking,” Steve managed to say, and Bucky actually grinned at him.

 

“Mind if we try again?” Bucky wrapped one hand around Steve’s dick, giving it a slow, loose tug.

 

“Do you?” Steve felt the need to ask.

 

“If I did, I’d tell you,” Bucky assured him.

 

“Okay. Yeah, let’s try again,” he clarified when Bucky just arched an eyebrow.

 

And again was better, Steve doing his damnedest to keep his hips on the bed - Bucky’s hands helping with that - while Bucky’s  _ mouth _ was pure, delicious torture. 

 

The man knew what he was doing, and Steve- Steve was happy to just be along for the ride as Bucky licked and sucked and  _ hummed _ , alternating his pace until he found what Steve liked best - until Steve was clutching Bucky’s hair and making needy little gasps that he couldn’t believe were coming from his mouth, but Bucky was  _ watching _ him, eyes dark and mouth wet and cheeks full, and it was, hands-down, the best head of Steve’s life.

 

“Stop, stop- Bucky, stop,” he panted as he felt the edge of orgasm creep closer and closer, until Steve wasn’t sure  _ he _ would be able to stop.

 

But Bucky pulled back immediately.

 

“Something wrong?” he asked, breathless and looking absolutely debauched.

 

“You said you liked to be fucked,” Steve explained.

 

Bucky leaned down and kissed him, open-mouthed and filthy and  _ perfect _ .

 

“I did, and I do,” Bucky said when he pulled back, pausing to nip at Steve’s jaw before he leaned over Steve’s body and reached into the nightstand, producing a foil-wrapped condom and a clear bottle of  _ Swiss Navy Silicone Lubricant _ .

 

“We used to use vaseline,” Steve said, and wondered  _ why _ he had bothered to open his mouth.

 

“You used to use rubber condoms, too. Silicone lube - works with condoms, and it’s the best thing for anal sex. Thicker, lasts longer - and it’s not petroleum based. Also pretty good for any toys you might want to experiment with. Just read the packaging first.  _ And _ you aren’t allergic to it. Most people aren’t - always a good idea to ask first, though.”

 

Steve had the urge to call Bucky  _ Dr. Barnes _ after that little speech, but he refrained.

 

“Oh god, just  _ say it _ ,” Bucky groaned, and Steve grinned.

 

“I wasn’t going to.”

 

“You were thinking it so  _ hard _ I could see it,” Bucky said.

 

“I was just appreciating the… education,” Steve said.

 

Bucky huffed.

 

Steve wrapped his fingers around Bucky’s over the bottle of lube.

 

“May I?” he asked.

 

“Do you remember how?” Bucky asked, the question serious.

 

“I think so,” Steve replied honestly. “You can tell me no.”

 

“Just let me get started?” 

 

Steve nodded and let go of the lube, lying back on the bed and watching Bucky adjust.

 

He straddled Steve, strong thighs bracketing Steve’s and their dicks sliding together unintentionally, and then very intentionally as Steve thrust upwards and Bucky ground down, and that went on for a while, lube abandoned after Bucky squeezed some onto his hand and wrapped it around both of them, stroking as they rocked together, and Steve pulled him down for a kiss that quickly turned into just their lips brushing together as they tried to  _ breathe _ .

 

“Bucky,” Steve moaned, because it felt  _ amazing, _ and Steve could come like this,  _ would _ come like this, but he desperately wanted to be inside Bucky.

 

“Yeah. Yeah. You’re right,” Bucky groaned, and removed his hand.

 

Steve took over, and Bucky muttered a few choice words as Steve adjusted his grip and stroked them slightly faster, slightly rougher than Bucky had.

 

“Fuck. Yeah.  _ Fuck _ , Steve.”

 

Bucky fumbled for the lube, thighs trembling and his face and entire chest flushed, but he finally spread some onto his right hand and reached behind his back.

 

Steve could feel Bucky’s slick fingers as the other man prepped himself. He saw the moment Bucky slipped a finger inside his body, cataloguing the way Bucky sucked in a breath and  _ rolled _ his hips against Steve’s, and then Bucky was biting his lower lip again, arching up, his thighs clenching.

 

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Steve sighed.

 

Bucky offered him a grin, slow and sloppy and sexy as hell.

 

“So you said, once or twice. Did you- did you still want to?”

 

“ _ Yes _ .”

 

Steve reached for the lube, and Bucky grunted in disappointment when Steve released his dick.

 

“Sorry,” Steve offered.

 

“You aren’t.”

 

“I’m not.”

 

Steve probably used too much lube, but he was pretty sure that, whatever else had changed in seventy years, dry sex of any kind still felt awful.

 

He reached for Bucky, felt the two fingers Bucky was still fucking himself with, and it felt amazingly intimate to feel Bucky’s fingers slide away, to have the other man guide Steve’s fingers into place, and then to slip inside him.

 

Bucky kissed him, and it was slow, it was a caress of lips and tongue that left Steve feeling breathless, and he sat there for a moment, his fingers buried in the gloriously tight heat of Bucky’s body while Bucky literally kissed him senseless.

 

“Steve,” Bucky moaned.

 

It spurred him into action, and he gently pushed two fingers deeper into Bucky, curving and reaching, and Bucky groaned and arched against him, fingers digging into Steve’s shoulders.

 

“You like that?” Steve had to ask.

 

“Yeah, I like that, you punk.”

 

Steve laughed and found the spot again, pushing against it until Bucky  _ squirmed, _ and that felt damn good against his dick. 

 

He took his time, enjoying the way that Bucky moved against him, tried to control the speed of things without actually  _ saying _ what he wanted, so clearly fine, if not exactly content, to let Steve do it his way, fingering him slowly with just two fingers until Bucky moaned his name again.

 

Steve added more lube and then a third finger, and Bucky was  _ so _ tight, and Steve was self-conscious about his size, his hands that felt too large and fingers that felt too thick and maybe Bucky was  _ too _ tight and-

 

Bucky kissed him again, as if he could sense Steve’s thoughts and knew he needed to be distracted, and it was a damn good distraction.

 

It left them breathless, left Steve staring up at Bucky in wonder as Bucky fucked himself on Steve’s fingers and stared back down at him.

 

“I’m ready,” Bucky said, and Steve had no idea what he was talking about for a moment. Ready for what? Ready for-

 

Steve flushed as he realized, and he felt like an idiot, but then Bucky was kissing him again and they were reaching for the condom together, smiling as their fingers battled over it, and Steve let Bucky take it.

 

“How do you want to do this?” Bucky asked as he rolled the condom onto Steve’s dick. 

 

Steve remembered his desire to have Bucky’s thighs wrapped around him as he slid into his body, but- but Bucky’s weight on his thighs now, Bucky looking down at him and pressing close - Steve wanted this.

 

_ Next time _ , he told himself, and had a moment of wondering where the hell that thought had come from. 

 

“Like this,” he managed to say, and Bucky’s dimple made another appearance as he reached for more lube.

 

He used it to slick up Steve’s dick, pumping him until Steve was thrusting up into his hand, and then Bucky abandoned the bottle of lube and climbed farther into Steve’s lap.

 

There was a moment of fumbling, Bucky wincing as Steve’s dick stabbed his perineum, but then their fingers were together, guiding Steve’s dick, and  _ there _ \- there was Bucky’s entrance, and Steve was sliding inside.

 

And the world, quite literally, could have burned down around Steve and he wouldn’t have been able to notice.

 

Because Bucky was still so tight, and Bucky’s eyes were still so dark as they held Steve’s, and Bucky’s body still fit so damn well in his arms, and Steve was still sliding, deeper and deeper and deeper, until Bucky’s ass was on his hips, and they sat, still and staring at each other.

 

“Holy shit, you feel good,” Bucky finally said, and Steve could only grunt in agreement. “Mind if…?” Bucky rolled his hips again, and they both gasped.

 

Before had been good. That was better.

 

“Don’t mind at all,” Steve’s mouth formed words, and he congratulated himself.

 

Bucky rose, Steve’s length sliding out of him, and then he sat back down and Steve was glad he had spoken before because he doubted he would be able to again.

 

He had liked sex, before. And even if he hadn’t always had the easiest time finding a partner, when he had, he had enjoyed it. But this- 

 

Bucky continued to ride him, and that was exactly what it was, Bucky riding him and Steve just hanging on, hands on Bucky’s hips and eyes latched onto Bucky’s because he  _ couldn’t _ look away, and he felt it again.

 

That feeling of being immense and small, of being adrift and apart, but then there was Bucky, looking at him, licking his lips and then leaning forward and kissing him, and Steve could feel the shudder of Bucky’s breath, the strain of his muscles, the thud of his heart, and Steve wasn’t alone, he wasn’t adrift.

 

He held Bucky close, and he let himself meet Bucky’s downward motions with upwards thrusts of his own, changing the rhythm and then changing it again, until Bucky’s mouth was open and pressed against Steve’s cheek, and he was gasping and clinging to Steve.

 

“Steve,” Bucky moaned, and Steve was never going to forget the way his name sounded when Bucky said that.

 

He reached between them, wrapped a hand around Bucky’s dick and stroked him, and Bucky  _ whimpered _ and fucked into Steve’s hand and back onto Steve’s dick, and it was heaven.

 

Steve wanted it to last forever, wanted Bucky wrapped around him and Bucky’s beard scraping his cheek and Bucky’s breath hot against his ear.

 

But then Bucky was trembling, thighs tensing and ass clenching, and his entire body went stiff as he came.

 

Steve held him, waited for Bucky’s grip to loosen to  _ this _ side of painful, and then he kissed his neck, tasting sweat.

 

“Can I?”

 

“Yeah. Sorry. Yeah, please.” Bucky gave a laugh, breathless and soft, and he pulled back enough to properly kiss Steve.

 

Bucky felt nearly boneless, his mouth curved into a smile even as he kissed Steve, even as Steve continued to fuck him, and Bucky made encouraging noises and kept his arms wrapped around Steve’s neck.

 

When Steve finally came, it almost took him by surprise, and he had to hold Bucky against his chest, overwhelmed by sensation and release and desperate to feel Bucky with him in that moment.

 

Bucky ran his fingers through Steve’s hair, pressed his mouth against Steve’s cheeks, his nose, his brow. Bucky held him, and Steve didn’t know if he could bear to see the look on Bucky’s face when he finally had to let go.

 

“You want some water?” Bucky asked eventually.

 

“Yeah,” Steve croaked.

 

Bucky slipped free, reaching down to pull the condom from Steve’s dick and walking out of the room before Steve had a chance to even see his face.

 

Steve had just enough time to freak out and  _ almost _ enough time to pull himself back together when Bucky came back into the room, glass of water in hand, gray eyes serious as they swept over Steve.

 

“You okay?” Bucky asked, and the question might have been superficial coming from someone who wasn’t looking at him as if he genuinely  _ needed _ to know the answer to that question.

 

“I don’t know,” Steve admitted.

 

Bucky nodded and climbed back into the bed, passing Steve the glass and settling against the headboard beside Steve.

 

Steve drank, slowly and deeply, and wondered just how much it was going to hurt when Bucky kicked him out.

 

“What are your thoughts on cuddling?” Bucky asked when Steve passed him the empty glass.

 

“Haven’t had much experience with it,” Steve admitted, because in  _ his _ day, ‘hookups’ had been in alleys or bombed-out churches or paper-thin tents.

 

“Wanna give it a go?” Bucky asked.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Bucky slid down, so that his head was on the pillows and his legs were stretched towards the foot of the bed, and Steve copied him, waiting for Bucky to drape himself over Steve’s chest or something. 

 

But then Bucky slid an arm under Steve’s shoulders and urged Steve to lay on  _ him, _ and Steve sighed in relief and curled against the other man.

 

He felt Bucky’s fingers on his back, just the slightest brush of skin on skin, and he could feel the steady thud of Bucky’s heart under his cheek.

 

“My first time,” Bucky said after what might have been hours of silence. “My first time after I got back from Afghanistan? Bathroom stall at the Rosemont, and I had a panic attack and ran away, had to call my  _ kid sister _ to come get me. I still can’t go back there.”

 

Steve tightened his grip on Bucky’s waist.

 

“Mostly it’s because it was the bartender. Which sucks, because it’s a good bar. Great happy hour specials.”

 

Steve laughed, and Bucky pressed a kiss to his forehead.

 

“Stay the night?” Bucky suggested.

 

“Is that a thing you do with a hookup?”

 

“No. But I like it.”

 

“What’s your morning routine?”

 

“Wake up with the fucking sun because the Army will never let me get over that, and don’t talk to anyone until I’ve had two cups of coffee.”

 

“I like it,” Steve decided.

 

Bucky huffed a laugh, and tugged on Steve’s hair until Steve angled his face up and Bucky could properly kiss him.

 

-o-

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Notes: putting Avengers tower on 8th and 58th because I can.
> 
> https://www.apartments.com/66-pulaski-st-brooklyn-ny-unit-2/40638qj/ Bucky’s apartment


End file.
